


Bellicose

by Lemon (theclumsytool)



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Blood, Blood As Lube, Character Death, Choking, Knifeplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21726592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclumsytool/pseuds/Lemon
Summary: Leon is a bit sexually frustrated, and he deals with it like any normal, rational person.. by being a complete asshole.
Relationships: F.J.S.J. | The Legion/Original Male Character(s), Frank Morrison/Original Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	Bellicose

Bellicose. _a_. demonstrating a willingness to fight.

* * *

Everything seems normal after that trial, after that indulgence into something dangerous. It's so regular and common, it's obnoxious somehow. Leon is forced onto hook after hook. He doesn't enjoy the chases, finds them bitter and lacking. He's struck down, has his face shoved into the dirt, sometimes mud. There's not anything special to it. Other killers have less of a tendency to play with their prey. Michael and Ghostface get the closest to sparking that adrenaline that he loves, but at the end of the day, the chase still ends the same. It's excruciatingly routine. 

Leon can't tell if he's grateful for it or not, fingers idly, thoughtlessly, dancing over his neck, thumbing at his own lips. He tries not to think about it, imagining. It's difficult, he hates it. Every trial starts to leave a bitter taste in his mouth, matched only by his scowl. He gets meaner, pent up beyond belief. Somehow it's harder now that he's had a taste. He stops to taunt sometimes, baring teeth with something wicked. He imagines they're him. They're not. He's hooked, he dies. It's easy.

He begins to think the entity is toying with him, feeding off of his displeasure. Leon knows it loves emotions like that, otherwise, they wouldn't be here. But one trial has him certain. The curtain lifts and he finds himself freezing. His arms naked of the plum-colored sweater he usually dons, his jean shorts replaced with long kneepads, ones that leave a little sliver of skin between tiny running shorts. He stares himself down, glares hard at the number twelve taped to his chest, the faded red of his old track uniform. It's the one from before his injury. He's on edge, an uncomfortable nostalgia sparking in his chest.

David snickers into his broad shoulders, appearing next to the brunette. "That's a good look for ye, mate." 

He turns on him so fast the burly man actually flinches back in surprise. There's a fire in his eyes as he stares the man down. He's easily double's Leon in size, any threat made him has no weight to it, but he snaps anyway. "Say one more goddamn thing, and I'll make sure it only takes one hook, I swear." He's breathing so hard his chest hurts, but David swallows and raises his hands as if to say he meant no harm. Leon just blows air through his nose in indignation and stalks away. He's not in the mood.

He's tense, shoulders brought up high around himself as he works on the first generator he finds. He's stuffed into a corner, grass tickling his shins as he crouches low and begins to work. The hair on his arms is prickling, the chill and his own heartbeat in his ears making him shiver. It gets louder, but he's stubborn, lowers his head and grits his teeth. There's a panic silently rising in his throat, sweat beads at his forehead from the pressure steadily becoming overwhelming. He's cocky, has a death wish. He wants out of this trial, irritated.

"We gotta stop meeting like this, babe." His fingers catch, the generator blows up in his face when the stray wires touch. He scowls at his own mistake, turning his glare on the killer with a heat not uncommon in his recent trials as if daring the predator to chase him. His nose crinkles, irate. Frank's presence doesn't change things. It doesn't. He stands, brushes his hands off on dark kneepads, adjusts the sweatbands around his wrists as if to prepare himself, the gesture automatic. They regard each other for a long moment, silent until— "Digging the new look."

His eyebrows turn down immediately, eyes narrowing and frown deepening as he stares down that stupid fucking mask. The killer shifts, and Leon's eyes briefly dart to the pallet he'd chosen to lean on. He was so full of himself, like he had Leon all figured out. Maybe he did. Maybe he knew more than Leon ever said. Maybe Leon didn't care. He felt like boiling water, and any second, his blood would bubble and seep over the edges. He swallows down that anger for a second, takes a step forward, another. Frank uncrosses his arms, casually holding the blade like it wasn't stained in blood. The mask's expression probably matched his own underneath. Leon wanted it gone. He reached; Frank steps forward and— Leon slams the pallet down on his head.

There's a grin on his features before he can stop it, a middle finger coming up to accompany it, mocking the stunned killer. "Eat your fucking heart out!" he shouts, bitter but satisfied. And then Leon is turning one-eighty before he can recover, throwing his body through a window and breaking into a sprint. Frank curses after him, a string of angered words. The wind rushes through his hair and the smirk doesn't leave. It's the small victories that keep the fire alive, that wade off the longing in his chest. It's a temporary reprieve, and it's only boosted by the distant sound of a generator popping off, one, two. He's a little disappointed he didn't finish his own. He could round back but thinks better of it. A cocky killer is the only reason he made it away unscathed, Frank won't make the same mistake. 

Even as he slows to something less obvious, he knows the male is still on the hunt, probably furious. The heartbeat is just barely in range, like a constant buzz behind his ears. Now he's the killer's exclusive prey, Frank hates behind baited. Before their last trial where something warped took place, he would chase him for entire trials, knife posed to strike and taking every opening to do. Now, Leon didn't know if he wanted to be caught. Now, things were unpredictable, an uneasy line between what was dangerous and what wasn't. A part of him enjoyed walking that line.

A dull ache begins to spread throughout his knee, the beginning of something more intense. It leads him to drift to a little structure, each realm having their own little unique one. Ormond is no different, maybe a touch cozier. A least the lodge has a fireplace though it lacks in the warmth it provides. It must be nice for Frank to be on familiar grounds, he muses idly, slipping into a locker for a moment to himself. 

Even after slowing to a near crawl, his breath still feels like it's being forced in and out, suffocated even when he takes in air. It reminds him of a panic attack, but he hasn't had one in years. The thought gives him a pause. How long has he been in the entities realm anyway? He doesn't think about it, doesn't really _want_ to think about it. Instead, he thinks about the cool air of the locker on his skin, the way the hairs on his arms prickle. He won't blame it on anything else. And it's nice, kinda, to have his vision limited to only the slivers of light that stream through the shutters. Sometimes it feels like the stimulants of the trial are too much. 

Leon exhales, dispells a breath he didn't know he was holding, closing his eyes and blinding himself to the world around him for a moment. The ease that settles into his muscles only lasts a second, gone too soon. Because when he opens his eyes again, everything in his body pulls tight like a coil wound too much, close to snapping. He didn't want to admit to it, but Frank was right. They really needed to stop meeting like this. 

The locker doors swing open, too fast and squeaking on their hinges. Leon is helpless to do anything, unable to stop the surprise that seeps onto his features. There's a blade too close to his skin, somehow more familiar than anything else. The killer's fingers curl around his throat, strangling, too tight. He gasps for air but nothing comes. He prepares himself to be dragged out, hefted high on the male's shoulders. Neither happens, Frank just pulls him forward, just enough, and then slams his head back against the wood. His vision swims, fingers scramble over bandaged hands in an attempt to alleviate the digging nails. Frank does it again. It's painful.

At least he's not using the knife, Leon thinks silently. The blade has been embedded in the wood beside his head since the killer got his hand around his throat. It's sort of familiar. His focus fades in and out, he can hear the heaving breathing of the male before him from behind the mask. He cracks a smile, something about it twisted and wrong. "You're mad," he says, the words sounding strained like he's sharing a secret. Frank doesn't give him the satisfaction of a vocal response at first, merely pulls him back and slaming his head against the wood again. _Ah, that one hurt_. He feels liquid at the back of his neck, soaking his nape. His fingers shake when he brings them back, he sees red. "Ouch," he murmurs. He doesn't sound too pained really.

He gets a laugh, one that comes out sounding more like a puff of air. Frank invades his space more, suffocating him in more than one way as he shoves a knee between Leon's legs. "Oh, babe," there's a heat to his voice when he finally speaks, flexing his fingers around his throat. It's going to leave bruises. He wants it to. "I'm more than mad."

Leon thinks he knows where he's coming from, but more than that, he feels tired, heavy. It's probably due to the lack of air in his lungs, brain going through the process of oxygen deprivation. The grip loosens just enough and he coughs, chokes as he tries to suck down air too fast. It's too much again, Frank's free hand wondering over all the bare skin the track uniform offers. His touch dances from his naked shoulder down the length of his arm. He tries to suppress a shiver, does a bad job of it.

"I'm pissed," the killer says, words carrying a roughness to them. It's kinda hot. "Fucking trial after trial with nothing, coming back to hear about how you've been acting. All taunting and playing' smartass." Oh, _oh_. He was jealous. "That damn spider bitch taunting me with just the idea of you, with someone else's hands on you." He trails off, but Leon hears the whisper of _Mine_.

The mask is closer now, but he wants it gone, wants to see the shadow of jealously crawl over Frank's face. Possessiveness is probably a good look for him. So he reaches with the hand coated in his own blood, smears it over the mask as he tries to remove it. Frank lets him, subtly ducking his head to help him. Those golden eyes bore him with a kind of intensity, the kind that makes him squirm.

He picks up where he left off, talking again. "And then I finally spot you, wearin' this." He pauses, pinching the skin between the shorts and kneepads for good measure. Leon startles, tries not to squeak and sees the faint curve of Frank's lips. They're still chapped, still very kissable. "And the first thing you do is slam a pallet on my head. Kind of a bitch move." Bandaged fingers tighten and suddenly the leg between his thighs is looking very tempting.

"You're not the only one," Leon says instead, deciding not to clarify as he discards the mask haphazardly. The clatter of it on wood flooring sounds unrealistically loud. But with his hands free, he presses them against Frank's chest, feeling the rise and fall under his palms. He's still breathing heavily, but he can feel it gradually slowing as if Leon's touch soothes him somehow. It doesn't seem right; it's almost cute.

Frank opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, thumbing at the sliver of bare skin at his thigh sometimes slipping just so under the thin fabric. Then two generators are going off, he wasn't really paying attention to them but assumes their the last two based on the way the male's head snaps up, swiveling to where Leon assumes is an exit. He's certain the killer instinct is rising up, the need to hunt and kill and sacrifice. All of the monsters seem to carry that natural drive, likely enhanced by the entity. He's not having it so he reaches, fingers slipping beneath the hood and into Frank's brown hair. It's softer than he expected. He tugs it to grab his attention, allows a smile to spread across his lips as he lowers his lashes. "Stay with me?"

Conflict dances across his features for a moment, eyebrows turning down and the soft touch on his leg stilling for a moment. It's replaced by a look that goes to straight to his cock, teeth flashing something dangerous. "You're my kind of messed up, babe, but you have to know I'm not going to treat you nice. Not after your little stunt earlier." The implications have him shivering, hips jumping slightly. 

But he mirrors the killer's expression, hand cupping the back of his neck as he draws him in. "Fine by me." Their lips meet in something hungry, teeth knocking together. Leon almost feels like he's being eaten alive, the kiss bruising and messy. His lips are raw and red when they part unceremoniously. Leon is breathing hard, can feel the flush spread over his cheeks, seeping down his neck and showing on his revealed shoulders.

"What a pretty sight," Frank laughs, sounding as breathless as Leon is sure he looks. He brushes some of the hair away from his forehead, it falls right back but the gesture has his heart jumping with something unfamiliar. He shuts it down, focuses on the sly curve of the male's lips. "Though I think a know an even better look for you." The comment is so transparent, and he wants it. He must see it on his face because he's stepping back, uncoiling the hand that's been resting at his throat so that Leon can sink to his knees. He takes a moment to be grateful the outfit came with his old kneepads. 

And when he steps back up, Leon immediately busies hands pulling him free of his jeans. He faintly hears the male comment on his eagerness. It's a tease; he's right. "Shut up," he murmurs, taking Frank's length into his hand, pleased with the hiss of breath the killer released. _That's good_ , he thinks silently, stroking him slowly and licking over the head, tasting. Leon starts with smearing wet kisses over the side of his cock, lessening the friction of his fist. The drag is smoother. He laps at precum, allows his eyes to drift up for a moment. Frank's hands are braced against the back of the locker and his eyes are fully on Leon, watching, almost admiring. "I wanna _choke_ ," he proclaims before sealing his lips over the head and sucking. 

The response is good, great even. Frank immediately bucks into his mouth, and Leon lets him. He tastes of sweat, has a musky kind of smell. It's not really bad, he decides, stoking at what's not yet deep enough. It's thick in his mouth, good, reaching. One of Frank's hands winds it's way into his hair, gently pulling his curls. It's not difficult for him to get the message even with his eyes shut. So he inhales through his nose, sinks down as far as he can. It's difficult, his throat pulses trying to accommodate the intrusion. It feels like he's gonna gag, but it's not quite there, And then the killer is rolling his hips forward, and he does gag. His nose runs and his eyes water, but it's good. Frank moans above him and it's better. 

"Where did you learn how to do that?" the question is choked, breathless. If Leon could roll his eyes, he would. _Practice_ , he wants to say, but doesn't, just swallows around him in order to shut him up. It works, words tapering off. He feels a hint of satisfaction, that good feeling even better when the male shoves down his throat. It's kind of sloppy, but Leon doesn't miss the control, allows him to use his throat. There's no complain as Frank takes him up on the offer. 

It doesn't take long really. Leon's not surprised, the way his mouth is being used like a fleshlight. Tears have long since started slipping over his cheeks, each breath he managed shaky and accompanied by snot. It's not very pretty. And then Frank is pulling out and cumming on his face without warning, Leon just lucky enough to get his eyes closed in time. It paints his nose and cheeks, some gets in his hair. He whines, a combination of upset and arousal. He'd purposely neglected himself, hands on the male's hips through the whole ordeal. He feels a bit like he might burst. And Frank is in front of him, wiping his face, saying things like, "You did great, such a _good boy_." and it's not helping his case at all. 

After his knees, his legs are totally asleep, and Frank has to help him up. He shakes in his hold, face flushed with embarrassment. His knee throbs. It's uncomfortable. "You better give me a warning next time," he says instead, feigning annoyance as his eyebrows pinch, "I'll swallow it; I'm not a pussy."

Frank groans into his shoulder, the sound a mix of things. "Those two things don't correlate at all."

"Maybe not." He grins anyway. And then he feels a clinginess start to creep up on him, so he pulls down Frank's hood, fingers combing more properly into the male's hair. It's idle, almost a distraction. "Kiss me?" 

He draws back, gives Leon a sort of quizzical look. "I dunno, you're kinda gross."

Scrunching his nose, he punches him in the shoulder. "I just sucked your dick, of course I'm not the prettiest girl at the school dance." Frank laughs at him, taking a step back to avoid his fists, so he huffs and kicks at him instead, his long legs more difficult to avoid. But he isn't trying, instead, catching him under the knee. Leon stumbles, eyes wide as he braces himself against the wooden back of the locker. He opens his mouth to chew the male out, but he's suddenly crowding his space again, hooking him under the thigh and dragging his other leg up around his waist. Leon wants to curse him for the smoothness of the gesture but doesn't get the opportunity because he's finally being kissed. It lacks the heat, the devouring lips from before. He melts into it anyway.

It feels like it lasts a long time. It doesn't really, but Leon likes being kissed because it's easy, because it makes him feel loved. It's kind of stupid. He's the first to pull away, expression almost touching on bashful. He hides it easily, lowering his lashes. "Okay, enough of the sappy stuff," he murmurs, fingers drawing back from where they'd instinctively curled over Frank's shoulders, "I'd say it's about time we get to the main event." 

"I'd say." He almost misses the grin the killer gives, all too suddenly facing the red back of the locker. Leon is ready to give him a dirty look for the lack of warning, turn and chew him out again. The opportunity slips away from him as Frank holds him down, pressing down on the divet between his shoulder blades. The other hand slides against his waist, tugs at the elastic of his shorts and slides them down his thighs. Without much resistance, they pool around his ankles. His face is burning, ass presented to the male. It's a humiliating position and the cold air is harsh against his hanging erection and newly bare skin. A slap comes down on his skin, unexpected and taking him by surprise. His knees shake and an unfiltered noise escapes him. "Oh, that was cute." Frank is chuckling behind him, soothing a hand over what he's sure is turning into a pretty red mark.

Leon grits his teeth, manages to bring his folded arms up under his head so he has something to rest them on. It's not the most comfortable, but he makes do. "What about me doing it myself?" he says, thinking back to what he said last time they were together. He doesn't mind this though.

A hand comes down again, and Leon is trembling, eyes pinched shut. "Next time," Frank says, voice low. And there are those words again, the promise of another encounter, of more touches, kisses. 

He lets himself be satisfied with that, burying his face into his arms as if it'll hide the heat blooming there. If it weren't for the hands freely and unabashedly groping him, he wouldn't trust his legs not to give out on him. The roughness is more crippling somehow, and he doesn't trust himself not to burst, so hard it's beginning to hurt. An unprompted whine escapes him, noted with his desperation as the killer spreads him. "Frank." It almost sounds like a warning, after all, Leon only has so much patience.

"Hush." His voice so near as he presses a kiss to the nape of his neck. There's a tease of teeth that lingers as a whisper as he pulls away again. He almost longs for it. 

The information that the knife is missing from the wood doesn't immediately don on him, doesn't settle until the cold of the blade is smoothing over his warm skin. It settles, his voice shakes a little. "Hey—" The sentence is cut short when the sharp edge slides through the skin at the swell of his ass. He bites his lips, rationalizes with himself that it'd hurt more if he wasn't pumped full of adrenaline, that he doesn't have some sort of thing for Frank carving him up. 

"Since it worked so well last time." There are fingers rubbing at the wound, coating themselves. He feels the warm liquid trickle down his thigh, bleed into the fabric of his kneepad. He's distracted from that easily enough, feeling the press at his entrance. Its a lazy push and pull, the slow stretch almost enough to drive him crazy. It has to be on purpose, and he wants to say something but the heat of it all it's making him dizzy. Frank is giving a self-satisfied little hum. "That's right, baby, I'll take good care of you." Leon hates him. 

The killer fingers him open for a long moment, longer than necessary, but he lets him, tries to find his breath again. He only mildly succeeds when the touch disappears. He feels like he's on the verge of combusting, eyes stinging. It's a struggle not to sob with relief too when he feels him start to press in with something significantly thicker than his fingers. There's the uncomfortable burn again, but he can't bring himself to mind it, the sting almost enhancing the wonderful feeling of being stretched. He loves it a little too much, head swimming. He doesn't want to wait, focuses and hears his own voice begging Frank to move. He's happy to oblige of course. 

The pose does a lot for the level of pleasure he experiences, he thinks distantly. It makes the curve of the male's cock brush almost perfect against his prostrate in the first few testing thrusts. He cries out something along the lines of, "Oh, oh— there!" and " _Please._ " And Frank responses to that well enough seems to put a bit more force into his thrusts when Leon is vocal, and he can work with that just fine. There's something that makes him want to use his voice, something that makes everything feel so good, too much almost. It's great, better than last time somehow. Leon likes to be doted on, that much is obvious. But the animalistic nature their fuck, he likes it just a little more. It's something primal, something hungry.

Then Frank is pulling him away from the wall, flush against his chest. He feels the zipper of the male's leather jacket catch on the back of his track jersey. Like this it's good, reaching. "It's deep," he sobs, head dropping against the killer's shoulder as he quivers in his hold. It's not really, he knows, but it's almost like he's fucking into his guts, a pleasurable weight spreading in his stomach. He won't last. "Close," he manages, tears in his eyes. His fingers are around his throat again, starving him of air. It's too much, he can't, he— shakes apart in his arms, his orgasm completely blindsiding him as he gaspes without sound, spilling against the wall in front of him. 

He's fucked though it, the overstimulation hurting in the best way, Frank using his limp body to meet his own ends. It's so raw and has that predatory need that Leon is familiar with. His face is wet and his vision is starting to spot. And then the killer is cumming inside him and releasing his throat all in the same instant and something about it is good enough to have him coming undone again dry with a choked sound. He can barely take it, eyes squeezing shut when the male still strokes him through it. It's bordering painful when he finally releases him .

Leon immediately slumps in his hold, only just hearing the praises of "You did so well," and " _Good boy._ " It's uncharacteristically sweet and suddenly all he wants is sleep. though the soft petting of his hair and fingers wiping away his tears are concerningly soothing in the moment. 

"Not fair," he breathes as Frank settles with him in his lap on the floor of the locker. The killer only smiles and brandishes the knife. He knows it's coming, welcomes it almost. He gets out one more, "Kiss me?" before the blade sinks in. He tastes kind of bittersweet.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be another indulgent, kind of sequel to artuate, but i've never written a nsfw sequal before ?? thanks for reading anyways fjjdksks


End file.
